


what branches grow

by voxophone



Series: choice kingdom [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Asexual Character, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Pre-Slash, Slavery, Slow Build, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3089393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxophone/pseuds/voxophone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a ship leaving Tevinter, escaped slave Lavellan meets Dorian Pavus in the direct aftermath of leaving his family after he discovered his father's plans to change him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hold on to yourself

As he steps onto the boat, he whispers his name under his breath. _Siorys, Siorys, Siorys_. The name his mother gave him. The name they never truly took, because he would not forget. It is his again. His to speak, but the faint whispers leaving his lips is enough to bring tears to his eyes and he does not dare to say it any louder. The waves of the Nocen Sea make him nauseous, and he looks at the city that will soon disappear behind him. The ship is leaving Minrathous, but he feels no relief. The danger is not over. Until the ship arrives in the Free Marches he will not celebrate his freedom. 

The Captain is a tall human with callouses on her fingers and eyes full of kindness. She takes his payment - the jewelry he had been wearing at the time of his escape - and shows him to a small storage room below the deck. "There will be cargo hiding the door so nobody will discover you. The food here should last the entire journey, but be careful with the water so you don't run out. A few of my most trusted crew know about this, but for your own safety, don't leave until I let you out when we reach Wycome." She smiles at him warily as she speaks. She's a good person for doing this when she doesn't have to, and he is lucky to have found her. He knows the jewelry is barely worth the risk she is taking, and hopes that her kindness will not get her killed. 

She closes the door behind him, and Siorys sits down on the small cot in the room that will be his sanctuary until the ship has docked in the Free Marches. 

Sea sickness rules him the next few days. He has never been on a ship before, his Master having an aversion to travel by boat. Now he understands why. His room smells of vomit and piss, there is a small window in the wall that he can use to empty his bucket, but the smell lingers anyway. For what feels like weeks, Siorys shivers under his blanket, empties his stomach faster than he can fill it - not that he particularly wants to - and tries not to think of what will happen if he is caught. 

His Master will look for him, of that he is certain. And if he succeeds, what will become of him? Will his Master let him live?

Siorys hopes not.

...

Dorian Pavus watches the waves crash against the side of the ship, and tries desperately not to think. He is leaning heavily against the railing, still tired after all the drinking he did last night. He barely remembers the name of the ship he's been on for the last four days. Despite the hangover, he wants another drink. Anything to dull the anger and the pain. What his father had planned...his fingers tighten into a fist and he tries to calm his breathing. He needs a drink. 

But brandy and sea sickness do not go well together, and one robe lost to vomit stains is enough. Dorian looks at the ship hands working, at the other passengers admiring the sea, he admires the sea himself - but it does nothing to soothe him. Anger and hurt boils inside him, and he does not know what to do with it. He wants a fight, to lash out and hurt something, which scares him a little because he is not a violent man. Before the drinks yesterday he'd tried to read but almost ripped the pages out of the book in frustration because he could not focus. 

He sighs and tries once again to appreciate the sights before him. The sun is shining, the waves are blue and this is the last he will see of Tevinter in a long time. If he ever returns. He might never set foot in his flawed but beautiful homeland again. 

On his way back to his quarters, Dorian decides he needs to do something other than sleep, drink and wallow in misery. He turns back, to explore the ship for a while. It's a rather large vessel and he still has no idea where everything is. He probably won't find anything overly exciting, but a walk might clear his mind. 

He's in the cargo hold, _where he probably shouldn't be_ , when he hears the first murmurs of thunder from the sky. He thinks nothing of it, and is about to turn back when the floor suddenly disappears from beneath his feet and he falls into a stack of barrels. He yells out in pain as they break against his side. He does not stand up once the pain subsides, the waves are still shaking the ship like a rag doll. _Well this is just my luck_ , Dorian thinks. Maybe he will perish in the storm, a nice little burial at sea. No more shame for his family. 

It almost makes him laugh. 

When he notices that the contents of the barrels are fish and that he is covered in the slimy things, Dorian tries to get up. He puts his hand against the wall for support and slowly rises to his feet - only for the wall to shift away from him under the pressure. Dorian falls _again_ and curses loudly. Then he hears someone else echoing his curses- not with anything as colorful and refined as his own vocabulary of swearwords - but still quite impressive. He isn't alone. 

“A hand would be lovely right about now?” Dorian says, and a few moments later, someone is at his side, helping him to an upright position. 

Dorian finds himself staring into a pair of light blue, elven eyes.


	2. hush

The man is obviously Tevinter, Siorys thinks. Based on his cursing and his looks, it would be very strange if he is not. At least Siorys does not recognize him as any of his Master's acquaintances, so maybe he can still prevent disaster. He knows he should push the man out of his room and close the door, but that would only lead to the man demanding answers, more people finding him. And the man has already found his hiding place, so he might as well help him up. 

He can pretend to be a ship hand, or a servant, anything other than what he is. Siorys helps the man sit, and when the man meets his eyes he looks away, fear already coursing through his body. 

“Thank you,” the man says, and pauses, as if he wants to say more but can not decide which words to use. 

Siorys gives him a nod, but his throat is closed up and any plans of pretending to be someone else slip away. He tries to say _“You're welcome”_ but can't even open his mouth. It's happened before, words abandoning him for hours when he most needs them. His Master had beat him for it many times, one lash for each question he gave no response to, until finally sound came out, in the shape of a scream. But he can't think of that right now. It will only make things worse. 

“That fish really smells horrid. Sorry about getting it all over your quarters,” the man says. Siorys snaps out of his thoughts, and winces inwardly. It is not the fish giving off the unpleasant smell, but the room itself. At least he has gotten over the nausea, finally. The man smiles, and tosses a fish that has gotten stuck on one of the many belt buckles on his robes out of the room. “Where are my manners, here I have disturbed your rest and I haven't even properly introduced myself. Dorian Pavus, at your service,” he smiles wearily. 

“Hi,” Siorys says quietly, and feels like a fool. One word is not good enough. He should be able to handle this, but can only think of his Master's face, his hands on him. It is over. He will be back there soon, and he will not get away again. 

He can sense the man looking at him and wonders if he could get away with murdering him. 

Probably not. 

Maybe he should do it anyway, but he's never killed anyone before and the thought of doing it makes his nausea return. What would his Master say, if he was returned to him covered in a man's blood from head to toe? Siorys imagines he would be proud and it disgusts him. 

…

The elf is scared of him, and Dorian has no idea what to say to show that he means no harm. The idea of him being dangerous is ridiculous to him, sure he's a mage and a powerful one, but he's not used to people looking at him with fear. He has never given anyone much reason to. 

But the storm does not seem to be subsiding, and he knows it would be difficult to get up and back to his quarters without incident. He prefers his bones intact. However, he does not like his presence making someone so obviously uncomfortable. Lightning strikes in the distance and Dorian sighs. He will have to stay for now. 

“I'm not going to hurt you, you know” he says after a few minutes of silently considering the situation. He has an inkling of why the elf is scared, why he is hidden away from the other passengers. He doubts the elf works on the ship, his skin too pale to have seen much sunlight and his arms lacking the muscles such work demands. He must be escaping Tevinter, much like Dorian himself. And he has no intention of turning the runaway slave in. 

The elf flinches, but does not look at him, or even raise his head. 

“Oh,” he says, disbelief in his voice. 

Dorian does not blame him for it. 

“Look, I'd go back to my quarters now if it wasn't for the storm but I have no intention of falling again. Twice is enough, I think. Can I stay here until it's over? I won't be a bother and I'll stay quiet about your presence afterward. I promise you that.”

Finally, the elf looks at him, though he quickly looks away. But he does not answer. Maybe he needs time to consider it. Dorian shifts, and adjusts his body to a more comfortable position on the floor. His arm hurts, and he'll probably have bruises all over from this. The storm is growing worse outside, rain and lightning all around them, the waves splattering water against the ship with so much force Dorian wonders if the wood will break, or if the ship will tumble over on its side and sink. 

“You won't tell?” the elf asks, after maybe ten more minutes. 

“I won't tell,” Dorian agrees. 

“You can stay, then.”

Dorian feels like he has won a huge victory, which is odd considering the whole situation. There's a storm raging. He's hurting all over and smells like fish. He's trapped in a room with a stranger that is probably more scared of him than the storm that might kill them both. It makes no sense at all to be the least bit satisfied with any of it. 

The elf moves to a cot in the corner of the room and wraps himself in a blanket. Dorian almost thinks he is going to try to sleep, but he just bundles up with his back against the wall, and watches Dorian warily. If he didn't think it would scare the poor man, he'd joke about the storm and their not so unlikely demise. It would do wonders to calm Dorian down, that's for sure. The strange silence between them is unnerving.


	3. this lonely life

For the rest of the night, Siorys keeps a watchful eye on Dorian. The man stays true to his word and does not bother him. It surprised him, the offer he'd been given. It sounds too good to be true and he does not trust it for a second, but he wants to. If Dorian spoke truly, it means he still has a chance. 

His escape won't have been for nothing. 

He's not worried about the storm, he can feel the lightning pulling at the magic inside him, wanting to be at his fingertips instead of crackling in the sky. He can feel it, and knows it won't hit the ship. The waves are more worrisome, but not enough to make him afraid. Dorian, however, does not seem to be handling the storm very well. He flinches every time they hear the lightning strike, and his hands are trembling. Siorys wants to say something to him, just to distract the man from the storm, to give him some comfort the way he would if the man was a fellow slave. 

But the man is not, and his misery is not Siorys's problem. Yet, he finds himself speaking. 

“Don't worry, we will be fine. The storm will pass and we will survive it.”

“How optimistic of you,” Dorian answers and sighs. But his hands seize to shake. Then he looks up and smiles at Siorys. “I must say, I did not expect you to want to talk to me, but I appreciate it. May I ask your name?”

It is strange, Siorys thinks, to be asked something as if no answer is demanded. He can choose not to answer if he wants to, and he doubts it would anger the man. He could be playing a game, pretending to be friendly only to turn on Siorys when he least expects it, but he looks too genuine, too innocent for that to be the truth. There is no cruelty in his smile, it reaches his eyes before it fades, not there to mock the slave, or to trick him. If he speaks, it will not be used against him. 

But what name shall he tell him? He does not wish to share his true name with this man he barely knows, and cannot trust. Until he is free, it has to be his to speak and only his. But his Master's name for him makes his skin itch with memories, and he will not call himself the name that was forced on him. 

The only option left is his father's name, the name his mother told him to remember because a whole clan shared it, and would welcome him because of it. The name of his future, if he was lucky. 

“My name is Lavellan,” he says. 

“It is nice to meet you Lavellan, though I wish it had been under better circumstances,” Dorian replies. “Not that I didn't make a grand entrance.”

At that, Siorys's lips curve into a grin. Dorian's clumsy fall plays through his mind. If things were different, all of this would be quite humorous. 

…

They exchange a few more words that night, until daylight calms the storm into a drizzle and it is time for Dorian to leave. It's mostly Dorian talking, though Lavellan gives him a comment here and there and reassures him when the storm makes him jumpy. At least things aren't as tense between them at the end of it. 

Dorian is reluctant to leave. Somehow, despite the cold hard floor, his bruised body, and _everything_ , returning to his rooms does not feel all that tempting. 

It's not like Lavellan is very good company, but Dorian likes him anyway for some reason. Once he leaves, there will be no returning, and here they are just starting to get along. It's a bit sad, really. But he made a promise, and will keep it. 

“It seems you were right. We're not dead!” he exclaims and the elf snorts. “I better take my leave, then. Thank you, for allowing me to stay.” 

Lavellan's shoulders stiffen, and he looks at Dorian with suspicion again. “And I have your word that you will keep my secret?”

“You have my word.”

“Thank you,” the elf exhales. 

Dorian carefully gets to his feet, and is just about to turn around and leave when a brilliant idea pops into his head. 

“Would you mind if I came back? To visit, I mean. This will be a long journey, and might get lonely in such a tiny space, without any company.”

The elf narrows his brilliant blue eyes. Dorian hadn't noticed before but there is a ring of light yellow around his pupils. Lavellan's ears do a little twitch. Well shit. He probably shouldn't have said that. 

“What?” Lavellan says, and Dorian realizes the man is confused rather than angry and frightened. 

“You do realize what I am,” the elf continues. “And what that means.”

“I would be careful,” he says. 

Lavellan looks even more confounded. 

“Look, if you don't want me to come back, I won't. I just thought it'd get lonely in here. And boring. I'm not plotting anything more than a friendly visit, I swear.” 

Lavellan shakes his head and Dorian swallows his disappointment. But then the elf surprises him. “I ...don't understand, but fine. Just make sure nobody follows you.”

When he leaves, it is with a smile on his face. It is not until later when he's almost asleep in his quarters, that he realizes he hasn't thought of his father at all since he fell through the barrels into Lavellan's hideaway. There is a twinge of pain now that the thoughts are resurfacing, but not enough to warrant drinking himself into a stupor again. Dorian sleeps soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you like this so far! I'm having fun writing it, when the idea came to me it wouldn't leave me alone so I kind of had to write it down. Thought I might as well share. I'll try to update regularly, but I have some real life stuff I need to prioritize so it'll probably be a few days until I can write more of this.
> 
> And just FYI there will be no sex in this, though the tags should make that obvious. I only gave it a mature rating because of the past non-con and other triggers in this.


	4. without words

Siorys watches Dorian disappear behind the door, and listens to the sound of the barrels being put back where they were. Footsteps fade away and he is alone again. Siorys doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He is a fool. He is doomed and he deserves it for letting his guard down, for trusting Pavus. And it _is_ trust, what he has given the man. Permission to _visit_ him. As if he is the kind of man who gets visitors, someone with small, rounded ears who lives in a mansion and has servants of his own. It is ridiculous. Dangerous. 

But the man had sounded so friendly. Like he truly thought they were equals. Siorys had been so blinded by his sincerity that he couldn't say no. He hadn't even wanted to. Dorian had been right, being trapped in here was lonely. 

He lies down on the cot and tries to calm his racing heartbeat. The decision is already made. He feels powerless, drained. Sleep won't come to him. _It could have been worse_ , he thinks and knows it is true. Dorian could have sold him out the second he realized what he was. He could have been cruel. 

Siorys sighs, still uncertain what to make of the man. It would be nice to trust, to have some certainty in his life for once. He has not trusted anyone since he lost his mother. Not even other slaves. But his instincts are sending him so many mixed messages that he does not know what to do with them. He curls up under his blanket and tries to empty his mind. What happens next is out of his hands, as it so often is. 

When he awakens later in the afternoon, after foggy dreams of a face he barely remembers, he feels calmer. Still afraid, but resigned to it.

…

Dorian does not visit the day after the storm, or the next one. He wants to, several times, because the elf is a lot more intriguing than any of the other passengers and Dorian meant it when he said he didn't want Lavellan to be lonely. But it seems too soon. He has to allow the man some time to calm down, and Dorian needs time to think. 

He's never really questioned slavery before. It is just how things are. His father is kind to the slaves his family owns, and while he knows some slaves are mistreated he's always thought that they were the rare cases. And wasn't it good, to give people an alternative to poverty and starvation? It wasn't an issue he had honestly given that much thought to, too busy despairing over other things that were wrong with his country. Oh, he could go on about it for days. 

He doesn't really want to think about it, but the thoughts won't leave him alone. Maybe it is because he likes Lavellan, and wouldn't want him to live a life of slavery. That is nothing one wishes upon his friends, after all. _And that should tell him something._

The way Lavellan had been so terrified of him, been so quiet and guarded, makes him suspect he has it all wrong. It is obvious that Lavellan's master had been a cruel one, he must be one of those rare, truly abused slaves, or he wouldn't have escaped. Wouldn't be so scared. But it can't be like that for all slaves, most of them seem content after all. Or there is yet one more thing to hate about his homeland. If it wasn't so utterly insensitive, he'd ask Lavellan about it. He's never held a real conversation with a slave before, and maybe it would give him some answers. 

He breathes in the sea air and looks at the silhouette of Seheron as the island gets further and further away. The storm has delayed them, but only with a day or so. 

It's been two days since he promised he would visit Lavellan. Maybe it is time. 

Dorian makes sure nobody is around before he begins the long walk to the tiny room hidden behind barrel upon barrel filled with fish. He has a picnic basket with him, filled to the brim with delicacies from the kitchen. “It's me,” he announces before he begins the struggle to move the barrels without dropping them on his feet, and hopes that Lavellan can hear him. Startling him would be a bad start to their evening. 

When he opens the door, Lavellan is standing in the back of the room, leaning against the wall. He is thinner than he should be, Dorian thinks, even for an elf. And he hadn't noticed how long his hair was before, thick and wavy, almost reaching his waist. 

“Hi,” Lavellan greets him, voice quiet and uncertain. 

Dorian returns his greeting with a wave, puts down the picnic basket on the floor, and goes back to move the barrels into position again, just in case. “It's good to see you,” he says once he's done with the task. “Hungry?” he asks and points to the basket. 

They eat in near silence, and Dorian wonders why he thought this would be easier. Of course the elf is still wary of him, and it's not like he actually expected anything else. So he starts talking about the other passengers to make things less tense, and starts with the story of how a nobleman slipped on the hem of a noblewoman's elaborate dress and almost made them both fall overboard. “I guess I shouldn't judge him for his clumsiness, considering mine. But at least I had the excuse of a storm,” he says at the end, and that draws a smile from Lavellan. 

Then they reach for the same tart at the same time, and Lavellan almost throws himself backwards as their fingertips touch. Then he goes numb, neck lowered as if he is awaiting judgment. 

“I'm sorry,” Dorian says. “Are you alright?”

The lack of answer does not surprise him, though it is still worrying. “Look, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise you that,” Dorian tries. 

Lavellan relaxes slightly. “So far you haven't, but this is...difficult for me.”

“I understand that. Is there anything I can do to help make it easier?”

“I don't know,” Lavellan says quietly. 

“I guess it doesn't help that I'm a mage from Tevinter,” Dorian sighs. 

Surprisingly, Lavellan smirks at that. “The mage part doesn't bother me,” he says, and holds out a hand sparkling with lightning. “And at least you're not a magister.”

“Perceptive,” Dorian smiles. He's impressed, and happy that he shares something with Lavellan. He hadn't expected him to have magic. But there is still the matter of his father. Lavellan deserves to know where he comes from. The smile fades from his lips. “However, my father _is a magister_. I would be next in line for the spot, but I'm not going back there. Ever.” 

The words come out harsher than he intended.

“Oh,” Lavellan says, eyes narrowed. “Did you want to be a magister?”

“No. Me, in the Magisterium? That would be hilarious. I'm not bitter at all about missing out on _that_. I had a falling out with my family, and decided to leave. They don't care for me and my choices, and I despise them for theirs.”

“Good to know,” Lavellan says, but Dorian barely hears it. Holding back the hurt spreading through his chest like a wildfire is the only thing he can focus on. Unleashing it now, shaping it into words, would only make it worse. Yet, he almost does it. Lavellan looks at him, concern instead of suspicion on his face. “They hurt you,” he says, and all Dorian can do is nod. Tears are starting to gather in his eyes, but he won't let them fall. He won't cry because of that man. 

And then the impossible happens. He feels a hand covering his own.


	5. hand-made for us

He holds Dorian's hand and lets him cry. He cries like a slave, quiet sobs so nobody will notice and make the hurt worse. Siorys knows he can't make whatever happened to Dorian go away, but he can offer comfort. 

It takes a long time before Dorian stops, and when he does, Siorys doesn't let go of his hand at once. When their fingertips touched earlier, he wasn't prepared. It stung like a slap to his cheek, put him back in the mansion in Minrathous. At his master's feet, awaiting something much worse than the slap. For a moment he was right there, until Dorian's voice brought him back. 

But this touch, he has chosen. It doesn't make him want to escape. 

Right before he withdraws his hand from Dorian's, he decides that the man can be trusted. At least for now. The life in front of him feels empty when he thinks of it, no plans, no people. Just running. Until he dies, or the slavers bring him back. 

His mother always said that the Dalish would take them in when they escaped. His father had told her all about them, when they were forced together to create him. To ease her mind, he'd whispered stories of elves in forests, moving freely in the Free Marches. He'd told her about his clan, that he still belonged to, and always would. Despite the Tevinter slavers capturing him and being sold to the highest bidder. Despite the fact that he'd never see them again. And she had fallen in love with his words, and promised herself that one day she and her child would escape to join the Lavellan clan. 

She had tried, and almost succeeded. Siorys had been nine when the guards cut her down in front of him. Eleven years had passed since that day, but now he was finally fulfilling her dream. 

He could try to find the Dalish, but feels disconnected from the idea. Maybe, it could have been, if he was younger. Now, he's lived too long to have anything in common with them except a name. If he found them, would they even take him in? Would the name mean anything to them? It used to be magical, a source of hope keeping him alive. It isn't anymore. 

That leaves him with nothing, and it frightens him. Where will he go? His path is an uncertain one, but maybe having company on it will make it clearer. 

Dorian looks up at him, and Siorys gives him an uncertain smile. Yes, Dorian Pavus of all people has won his trust. _At least for now._

“You must think me a fool now,” Dorian says, breaking the silence and Siorys's contemplation.

“Why would I? I'd say you're the opposite.” He doesn't understand. Emotion was only a weakness if the wrong person caught you expressing it. And Siorys would not punish Dorian for being hurt. Surely he understood that. 

“You're too kind,” Dorian mumbles, and is that a blush? Siorys can't tell, because Dorian looks away before he continues speaking. “But thank you. I...this was supposed to be a nice picnic, not _this_ ,” he makes a gesture. 

“I don't mind,” Siorys says. “I don't know what happened with your family and you don't have to tell me unless it'd help, but I'm not unfamiliar with what you're feeling.”

“I'm sure you're not.” Dorian looks like he wants to say more than that, but instead he pushes a plate with a sandwich toward Siorys. “We should eat. The food won't eat itself, and all of this has made me rather hungry.”

Siorys picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. It should feel stranger, eating bread that isn't stale, sharing a meal instead of serving it. But right now it feels normal. Maybe it's the ship, this little storage room, carving out a space for him in between two different worlds, the ocean separating them like the veil between this world and the fade. He's not on either side, and it's freeing somehow. Terrifying too, but only if he focuses on it. When he doesn't, he feels like there's no context to his existence, no memories to swallow him up. And he can eat the freshly baked bread without hesitating. 

He doesn't expect the feeling to last, but it's nice to pretend for a while. 

They eat until the food is gone, exchanging few words but the silence they share has a warmth it hasn't had before. When Dorian takes his leave, he promises to return the next day. 

…

Dorian sits fully dressed on the bed in his quarters and contemplates if drinking an entire bottle of brandy will be worth the headache. There is a strange fluttering inside his chest and he doesn't know what to make of it. All he knows is that Lavellan is strange, far kinder than anyone could expect of a man with his past. Dorian knows almost nothing of it, and can't find it in himself to ask the former slave just to sate his curiosity, but now Lavellan knows parts of his own past. 

Not that it feels like he has left any of it behind him. 

Most likely, it will always be able to hurt him, but maybe that's just him being melodramatic. Surely, one day he can say that while he detests his father, it's all good and behind him. He should try to sleep. Dwelling on it is inevitable, but he'd prefer to do it without dark circles around his eyes.

It takes him longer than usual to settle down for the night. The blankets are too warm, the mattress to hard, and his thoughts are running circles inside his head. Lavellan had held his hand. Nobody had ever done that for him before. Felix had offered comfort in the shape of treats sneaked from the kitchen and friendly card games. But that hadn't been the same. He hadn't let Felix see him so vulnerable. He feels a pang of regret for leaving Tevinter, and the precious few friends he had made there, behind him. But it is for the best. He wonders though, what his old friend would think of his new one. 

And so his thoughts shift back to Lavellan, once again. _He's a mage_ , Dorian's mind supplies and he wonders how much magic he knows. Obviously, lightning spells. But Dorian has no idea to what extent, or how much of it is self-taught. Had Lavellan's master seen fit to teach him more than the basics? Had he even done that? He'd have to ask to find out, but he is pretty sure Lavellan would not appreciate him prodding. Even if it was just about magic. 

Dorian knows he often speaks without considering if his words are the proper ones to use, witty retorts slipping out of his mouth before he realizes all they do is alienate people if it's not the right moment. It's how he's protected himself, and to be honest it makes him proud that he can weave words into armor when he needs it. There are worse ways to be, after all. But with Lavellan, he can't afford to slip. The wrong words could hurt him, make him afraid again. Dorian doesn't trust his words to behave into questions that won't awaken a world of hurt. 

But the prospect of teaching Lavellan magic is tempting, and could prove that there's something Dorian can give him besides lousy picnics. If he can offer him something useful, maybe they can stay in touch when they reach Wycome. Maybe their budding friendship, if it can truly be called that, won't be forgotten and abandoned once they go their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're still with me, and that this will keep your interest a while longer. There's about three more chapters left until the end, but this is just the first part of a series. Yay?
> 
> If anyone wants to beta I would appreciate it, more for bouncing ideas than correcting language mistakes, though that would also be nice since i'm not a native English speaker. Send a message here or on my tumblr if you're interested! 
> 
> tumblr: nug-inquisitor.tumblr.com


	6. will crumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!
> 
> This is where things get a bit graphic. If you don't want to read about the past non-con, or see any misgendering, skip to Dorian's part, after the three dots like this:
> 
> ...
> 
> I'm adding the appropriate archive warnings to this now that I know that it's relevant. Be careful, okay. I don't want to hurt or trigger anyone.

Master has a hand in his hair, petting that might turn to pulling in any given moment. Siorys, _no not Siorys that is not his name here_ , is kneeling at his feet, dressed only in a thin silk robe that is open at the front. “I would bring you with me pet, but you always distract me so,” Master says. He is not expected to respond. Sometimes he is, Master likes him docile but not mute. He knows when he is meant to speak, and when he is meant to be quiet. He prefers being silent. 

Master lets go of his hair and snaps his fingers. He rises to his feet and with a hand on his neck, Master guides him to the bed. Master cups his face, and forces a finger between his lips. 

“Beautiful girl,” Master praises, as he sucks his finger. So it is one of those days. Master is gentle with him sometimes, calls what he does making love, but punishes him still with his words. He has learned the hard way not to protest. He wishes, once again, that his Master had never found out, that he could have kept himself hidden. But then there would never have been the good days, when master called him boy and let him bind his chest. Those days made him feel real, even if they were short and always ended in humiliation and pain. 

He doesn't want any of Master's touches, but his body responds the way it almost always does. He has learned to become separate from it, to react to commands without feeling. This has been his life since his fourteenth birthday. Master slams into him again and again, and fingernails dig into his hips. What started out as gentle is turning rough. “My little dove, you will never fly,” he whispers and suddenly Siorys knows he shouldn't be here. This isn't supposed to be happening. He'd gotten away, when Master left for his trip to Vyrantium. Had that not happened? He just said that he was leaving tomorrow...

“Did you think I would ever let you leave,” Master laughs and empties into him. That should be the end but then there are hands all over him, holding him down, and he feels his Master's breath tickling his neck. “You only exist because I wanted you. You are mine and nothing else.”

A hand encloses around his throat, choking him until everything goes black. Siorys wakes up screaming. 

It takes him a while to realize where he is. The ship. He can hear the ocean waves and he is in the storage room, not in Minrathous. His Master is not here. The escape was successful, and he can remember every step it took to get him here. Siorys tries to reclaim control of his breathing but he can't and the images from his dream, his memory, push back against the calm he is trying to build.

He blacks out for a while and when he comes to again he feels better, though it takes hours for the shaking to end. 

The dream had been the last time his Master had touched him. He tries to convince himself it will never happen again, that he is free now and will remain so. Not for the first time , his faith in his actions falter. Maybe it would have been better to stay. Slavery is all he knows. He's lived his entire life with only one purpose, to serve. Sometimes forgetting he was a person at all. 

His mother had given him the strength and the vision to want something else out of life, but maybe he should have let that dream die. Maybe pursuing it had been a mistake. They would catch him. Slavers always caught those who dared escape.

But he had to honor his mother's sacrifice. Siorys remembers watching the men slit her throat, he remembers every cruelty his Master has bestowed on him. Hatred makes the shaking stop, makes him want to contradict every word his owner has ever said about him. He is not a woman, he is not a frail little bird and he does not belong to anyone. He does not exist for anyone but himself. 

And he remembers now, he's not even alone. Before he fell asleep and the nightmare took hold of him, he had decided to trust Dorian. He will have to be careful around the man and never trust fully. The nightmare is a reminder that he can't risk capture. But he doesn't want to be alone, and Dorian is trying to be his friend. Siorys likes him, despite all the reasons he shouldn't.

“It's me,” a voice calls out and Siorys smiles. He's glad he managed to calm down before Dorian arrived. It is doubtful that he would have been able to deal with Dorian actually being there while he recovered from the dream. But it is good that he is here now. 

…

“What are your plans when we reach the Free Marches?” Lavellan asks. 

“I guess I will travel. See the wonders of the south,” Dorian says. He hadn't thought much of what he would do when he left, only that he had to leave. “Though I hear trouble is brewing in the Marches, with what happened in Kirkwall and all. I'd rather not get caught in that. Orlais might be nice this time of the year. What will you do?” 

“I don't know. Maybe find my father's Dalish clan, but I don't know if they'd take me in. I don't even know if that's the life I want. And it would endanger them if I joined, the slavers would take them too.”

Dorian doesn't know what to say. He didn't even know Lavellan was part Dalish, even if the name does sound very elven now that he thinks of it. So he stays quiet and Lavellan continues.

“I guess I will just have to keep running. They probably have a trail already, though the captain said that a lot of ships were leaving at the same time as we did. But my master should know by now and he'll send men after me until they find me, I'm sure of it.”

“I'm sorry,” Dorian says. This is the most he's heard Lavellan talk and it's about such horrible things. 

“It's not your fault,” Lavellan says. 

“Before I met you I didn't even question slavery,” Dorian admits and feels ashamed. He still isn't sure it's completely wrong, wants to hold onto his old opinions because they make him feel less disgusted with himself. 

“Nobody really does, not even most slaves. We are so used to it, used to having no worth as people. Only as property, and even then we are disposable. It is not a good way to live but we are so lost most of us never dare to think of a different way. They break us, if we do,” he says bitterly. 

“Is that what made you escape?”

“I don't know. I tried to escape once before this, when I was a child. My mother wanted me to grow up free. But we failed and she was killed. For years I was afraid, I almost forgot why anyone would want to run. Slavery makes you focus only on serving and avoiding punishment. You become a thing for someone else to use. But I never forgot completely even if I often wanted to. I never stopped being angry. My master was the one who gave the order o kill my mother, to make an example of her. He never had my loyalty, only my hatred and fear. I had to get away from him, and I guess the seeds my mother planted in me about freedom never stopped growing.”

He wonders how Lavellan is still standing. He can guess what his master did to him and it makes him want to rip the man apart. And he isn't the one who lived it. He was right when he assumed Lavellan had been abused. But to have seen his mother die like that. Dorian can't imagine it. Why did he ever think a system that allowed such things to happen could bring anything good? He has no idea of what to say. Saying something would only ease his own conscious, it will be for him and not Lavellan. He doubts anything he says can make it better. 

“I've never talked about it before,” Lavellan says before Dorian makes a fool of himself with a clumsy 'sorry' or something else along those lines. “It feels strange.”

“I shouldn't have asked,” Dorian says and feels horribly guilty. Lavellan looks pallid and he is shaking. Then he sighs, and he looks so worn for a moment Dorian sees an old man instead of a young one. 

“No, it's okay. Though I don't know if I want to keep talking about it,” he says quietly. Dorian wants to comfort him but doesn't know how. Touch is out of the questions so he can't pat his shoulder or do what Lavellan did for him and hold his hand. 

“You're a brave man,” he finally says and Lavellan perks up. He really doesn't understand him. How can he look even remotely happy when a moment ago he looked like he would break down? Has nobody ever shown him kindness? 

“Thank you,” he says. “Most people do not realize.”

Dorian has no idea what he's talking about. “Realize what?” he says. 

“That I'm a man.”

“What? Of course you are. I mean, maybe if they only saw your hair, but lots of men have long hair. It's even starting to get fashionable.” 

Lavellan chuckles. Dorian feels clueless and scratches his chin in confusion. There is silence for a while and he wonders if Lavellan is going to explain at all or leave him hanging. 

But then the man clears his throat and starts speaking. He looks a little unsure. “When I was born they thought I was a girl. I'm not, but only my mother saw that. I told her I was a boy when I was...about four or five, I think, and she never questioned it. But she's the only one who hasn't. So it means a lot that you think of me as who I am.”

Well that explains it. Daft people, for not getting it, though Maevaris had told him it wasn't always easy to have to prove your gender time and time again to people who refused to see. He's never understood why anyone would be so offended because a person's gender didn't match what the midwife had declared them to be at birth. But not everyone was as open as he was, his own experiences had taught him that much. Having to hide who you were hurt, and Tevinter society was cruel to anyone who was different. For a slave it must have been a lot harder than it had been for Mae, and it hadn't been easy for her. 

“You're welcome,” he says. 

“You don't think I'm deluded?” Lavellan wonders and sounds so serious Dorian wants, yet again, to hurt the people who hurt him. A good firestorm is what they deserve. 

“Why would I? You know who you are better than anyone else. I think you are an admirable and brave man, and I'm glad you felt like you could tell me.”

Lavellan smiles and looks away, hiding a blush. He whispers another 'thank you¨' that Dorian almost doesn't catch, and then he takes a deep breath. “It's a bit overwhelming to just be accepted like that,” he says, still with a smile on his face. 

“But in a good way?” Dorian certainly hopes so. 

“Yes,” Lavellan agrees. 

Dorian's stomach rumbles loudly and Lavellan digs out some food from a crate in the corner of the room. He offers a piece of bread to Dorian and he takes it even if it's stale. Next time, he will have to remember to take something with him. 

“We're close to the Northern Passage. Soon we'll be in Rivaini and Antivan waters instead of Tevinter and Qunari territority,” Dorian says between bites. 

“About the Free Marches, you said there had been trouble in Kirkwall. It was between mages and templars, right? Lavellan asks. 

“Yes. An apostate revolutionary blew up the chantry in Kirkwall and if what I heard is correct the templars and mages there almost wiped each other out in the aftermath. It's been almost eight months since then, but big disasters like that can't exactly be smoothed over like it was nothing. Instead, they point fingers and yell. So, there is bound to be tension. The southern mages might rebel, and I can't say I blame them. But it will get ugly. Templars there aren't exactly like back home.”

“I'm starting to understand that,” Lavellan sighs. “ I wish I wasn't a mage. I heard they lock up the mages outside Tevinter and I'm _not_ going to live in a cage again.”

“How much magic do you know?” Dorian asks softly.

“Not enough to defend myself. I have an affinity for lightning, but I don't know enough spells to do much with it. I can heal but only a little. And that's it. The templars would have no difficulty taking me down.”

That goes for the slavers too. They would take him back easily if they found him. Dorian does not want that to happen. Maybe his idea will help more than he thought. “I could teach you, if you want,” he offers and tries not to be too hopeful about the answer. Lavellan is not exactly a very trusting person, and the reason why is starting to sink in. He could be dragged back to that monster any moment. Dorian wouldn't betray him, and if he was with the elf and they tried to take him back, he'd fight them. It doesn't matter that it would likely mean being properly kicked out of his country. He's already a pariah and he's not planning to return anyway, so it hardly matters. But Lavellan doesn't know him well enough to be sure of that, even if he told him. 

“You would?” Lavellan looks excited at the prospect. Dorian can't help but smile, even if his reason to accept the offer is probably more about the danger than Dorian's trustworthiness. 

“I don't know how good of a teacher I'd be, but yes I would. If you will have me,” he says. 

“I don't know what to say,” Lavellan mumbles. “Can we start now? I want to learn as much as I can before we get to Wycome.”

Dorian is about to suggest that he can keep teaching him, that he will need more than few days of training and maybe they could travel together for a while. But then the door is slammed open, and someone enters. Dorian stands up, ready to defend Lavellan, and before he has a chance to cast a barrier around them, the intruder grabs him and puts a dagger to Dorian's throat. 

It's the captain and she is looking at him with fury in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it took me a while to bring up that Siorys is trans. Idk if I did it the best way, but I'm trans so yeah. I think it's still a bit problematic but it didn't make sense for me to bring it up earlier when so much else was happening, the nightmare shows us what he is escaping from and I thought that was important. I'm so sorry that I put my characters through so much shit though. Why do I do this to myself. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys liked the chapter! I'll try to update soon.


	7. and reveal

“No!” Siorys shouts. “Don't kill him!”

“What?” The captain hesitates, but does not move her blade. Her eyes are on Siorys now, and he can tell that she is confused. “He's my friend,” Siorys explains. 

“He's Tevinter and very likely to sell you out,” she counters. “I said I'd get you to the Free Marches and I'm not jeopardizing that for a magister.”

“Altus,” Dorian coughs. 

“Good for you. That's just _one_ step away from me killing you on sight,” the Captain hisses. 

“Then how the hell are you doing business in Minrathous? Must get very uncomfortable with all the bloodshed.” Dorian says. “And by the way this feels very much like being killed on sight and I think it's a bit unfair.”

The captain snorts and tightens her grip around him. 

“Dorian, don't,” Siorys says. “Look, I didn't trust him at first either but he's a good person and my friend. Please let him go.”

“You're not even out of Tevinter territory and you've already befriended a Tevinter nobleman? Aren't you supposed to hate them?” The captain chuckles, but her dagger is still at Dorian's throat. It doesn't look like she's planning to let him go anytime soon. 

“Of course I hate them, but he's different.” Siorys says and hopes that he can convince her. She's only trying to protect him but he's starting to get desperate. She can't kill Dorian. He doesn't know what he will do if she does. He called Dorian his friend a few seconds ago and he knows that he meant it with his heart. They've known each other for such a short time and Siorys can't let it end here. If he lost Dorian, would there be another gaping hole inside him?

“How can you be sure?” The captain asks. 

“I just am! You don't know him, you can't judge him like that. Please just let him go!” He shouts at her. She furrows her brow, considering his words. 

“Alright, alright, I'll release the pretty Altus,” the captain says and finally lowers her dagger. She steps back and Dorian coughs and moves to stand beside Siorys. “I think you nicked me,” he says. 

“Oh, get over it. If not for your friend here I would have slit your throat,” she laughs and Dorian actually joins in. “That's very comforting,” he says. 

Siorys still feels dazed and stops listening as they banter. It's not like he's never seen violence before, his Master has killed many people. He should be able to handle it. But he's never been able to stop it before. It feels like it isn't over, that any second Dorian is going to be on the floor, dead eyes staring back at him while the blood gushes out. Siorys looks at his throat. There is a small cut and it's bleeding, but it's not much deeper than a paper cut. Still, Siorys puts his hand on it and pours out enough healing magic to seal it. He feels better. 

“Thank you,” Dorian says and does not comment on how unnecessary it was.

“You really do like him, huh,” the captain smiles. “I'm not entirely convinced about him, but you're right. I don't know him well enough to say if he should be dead or not. All I'm saying is, do you?”

“Yes,” Siorys says with conviction. Dorian beams at him, and Siorys feels warm inside again. He's still scared that the captain will hurt Dorian, but she's proved that she's not unreasonable. She shakes her head at him, but seems amused. 

“I'll give you a minute, but I want a word with you before you return to your quarters,” the captain turns to Dorian, who nods. “And no, I won't kill you once I have you to myself,” she adds. Siorys breathes out. The captain leaves them, and the door closes with a creak behind her. 

Dorian's hands are shaking slightly, but that's the only sign that he's upset at all. _He's holding the fear inside, he has to be,_ Siorys thinks, and without thinking about it, he entwines his fingers with Dorian's. 

“You may not believe me, but I've never been held at knife-point before,” Dorian says after a few minutes, when his hands aren't shaking anymore. “It's just as exciting as they say, especially when you survive to tell the story and you get to add all the embellishing details you want. Thank you.”   
“You're welcome,” Siorys says. 

“We probably shouldn't make the captain wait,” Dorian says reluctantly.

…

Lavellan is holding his hand again, and he doesn't want to let go. But he does, because there's a woman with very sharp daggers waiting for him and he doesn't want her to get impatient. She seems like a good sort, but Dorian does not want to push her limits. You never know with people like her. 

_He called me his friend_ , he thinks as he exits the room. _That was definitely worth the near-death experience. And don't forget, he wants to study magic with me!_

When Dorian comes face to face with the captain outside Lavellan's hideaway he has to put some effort into wiping the silly smile off his face. He doesn't want her to misinterpret it as strutting. 

“You wanted to talk?” he says.

“I need to know how you found him and what your intentions are,” the captain says. The easy wit from earlier is gone from her voice, she's all business now. Dorian sighs, he understands but it's not exactly nice to be suspected of being a slaver. He would never sink that low. 

“I was exploring your ship when the storm began and I fell into the door to his room. It opened, and I saw him. I didn't want to break my neck so instead of trying to get back to my quarters, I stayed and we talked. I came back to visit later, because I asked him if I could and he said yes. My only intention is to be his friend.”

“If you actually care about his safety you should have been more careful not to be followed here.”

“I was being careful!” Dorian protests, but she has a point. If she found out where he was sneaking off to, others might do the same. That would be dangerous. “I'll be more careful in the future,” he says. 

“Good. So you weren't looking for him?” 

“No. I had no idea that he was there. Don't worry, I think he's safe for now. A lot of ships left Minrathous the same day so they shouldn't be able to track him that easily.”

“Why did you pick this ship?” she asks, obviously not trusting a word he's said. 

“Because the passage was cheap and I approved of the destination? I'm telling you, I'm just Tevene nobility, I'm not a magister and if it makes you feel any better I'm not on good terms with most of my countrymen.”

“That does make me feel better,” the captain says with a smirk on her lips. “I'm not all that fond of you Tevinters either.” Dorian hopes that the return of her sense of humor means the interrogation is over. He wants to go back to Lavellan and talk more, or even better, go to his quarters and get some sleep. He's starting to get tired. 

“So...” the captain says and Dorian sighs. He should have known that she wasn't done yet. 

“Look, I'm not a terrible monster with a habit of selling his friends into slavery. Can I go to my quarters now?” He cuts her off and belatedly realizes it might not be that smart to snap at her. 

But the woman chuckles. “I was going to ask if you've always had that mustache, but I guess that can wait. Ugh, my boyfriend is going to be very grumpy if I tell him that I didn't kill you. He _really_ hates Tevinter. But you seem alright. Just remember that if you hurt my guest I will kill you.”

“I always love compliments,” Dorian says. He ignores the threat because he knows it won't ever be necessary for her to put it into action. She winks at him and starts walking away from the cargo hold. Dorian decides to go back to Lavellan instead of sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! There's only one chapter left now, but I'm working on an outline for the sequel already so the story will continue. The final chapter should be up in a few days.


	8. choice kingdom.

_hold on to yourself,_  
hush,   
this lonely life   
without words  
hand-made for us,  
will crumble   
and reveal  
choice kingdom. 

...

The journey had felt like it would never end when he stepped onto the ship. He had expected two lonely weeks until freedom was truly in his hands, but Dorian has given him something else, something that gives warmth but still terrifies him. Siorys has never fooled himself that it would be easy to be free. Free to make his choices. He hopes he is making the right one. 

Dorian had come back after talking to the captain. They hadn't talked much, both of them too tired, and eventually Dorian had fallen asleep right there on the floor. Siorys almost hadn't had the heart to wake him, until he realized that someone with Dorian's social standing was used to beds. 

He had come back the next day to begin teaching him more magic. Nothing huge, just basic theory. Or so Dorian had said, some of it had gone over his head. The next day they did practical work, but he had barely managed to hold the barrier at all. 

He knows so little of his gift it's infuriating. _And tomorrow, we dock at Wycome_ , Siorys sighs. Four days is not enough time to learn everything and he knows it. Only one day remains of the journey. Siorys is impatient for Dorian to arrive, no matter that the sun has barely risen. But Dorian needs his beauty sleep and Siorys needs to think. He needs to decide. 

It should be easy. Dorian is an Altus, he is too closely tied to everything Siorys is trying to escape. It's not that he's still worried that Dorian will turn him over to the slavers, but it still bothers him. He wants to remove every trace of Tevinter from himself and start over. It's impossible and he knows it, he was born in the blighted country and Tevene is the only language he speaks. If he truly wanted to forget everything he would have to forget his mother as well. Erase everything that has happened to him, even the love and the kindness, and he can't think of that without the pain. His past will always tug him backwards, make words disappear from his tongue and fear coil around his body like a snake. He has no illusions about that, but it isn't a truth he carries willingly.

But with Dorian, he won't be alone. It may not be wise but he needs something to keep him from letting the burden he carries become everything he has, everything he is. It's a foolish thought but he wants Dorian to stay. 

_He makes me feel like I could be happy one day. That is more than enough reason to want this. I think he needs someone too, so maybe I'm not being foolish. Maybe it could work. All I need to do is to find the courage to ask him._

He paces while he thinks, but it only puts emphasis on the confined room, on how very small his world is. The walls are taunting him. The Amaranthine Ocean is just outside but it feels like it doesn't exist and he wonders if he will ever grasp the size of it. He's made up his mind. It shouldn't be so difficult. Annoyed, Siorys lays back on his cot, but he can't still the nervous energy whirling in his body. He is too awake to sleep, but there is no other way to make the time pass until Dorian knocks on the door . _Why couldn't he have been a morning person._

When the knock finally comes, Siorys is exhausted. 

Dorian opens the door and the captain trails in after him. Since she discovered where Dorian was disappearing to, she's delivered him to the door every day to make sure nobody else follows. 

“Good morning,” Siorys says and runs a hand through his hair. Dorian looks just as tired as he is and it makes him feel a little better. 

“You boys have fun,” the captain says. “And speaking of _fun_ , my offer still stands. I'll be at the Wyvern's Tail for a week and I'd love your company for a night or two.” She gives Dorian a coy smile. 

“Thank you, but this handsome man has things to do,” Dorian says. 

Oh. They're talking about sex. Siorys decides not to listen. The idea of it has never appealed to him and he's glad that the captain is flirting with Dorian and not himself. Though it sounds like Dorian is rejecting her offer, so maybe he doesn't like sex either. Or he doesn't want to have it with someone who almost killed him. It doesn't really matter. 

“It's a shame. We could have so much fun together,” the captain says. 

“I thought you had a boyfriend who hated all things Tevinter.”

“He won't mind as long as we don't ask him to join,” she says “Besides, he's not in Wycome so you won't have to worry about getting your heart ripped out of your chest.”

“You do realize that only strengthens my resolve not to have drinks with you? “ Dorian makes a face and scratches the spot on his throat where the captain nicked him. “And not to be unkind but you're not exactly my type.”

“Oh, alright. But if you want a friendly drink without anything else involved, both of you are welcome to come join me at the Wyvern's Tail.” She smiles at Siorys. “I'm going to leave you two to your magic lessons now, and I'll come back tonight to pick up the evil magister.”

“I feel like I'm a child again and my parents are sending me on play dates,” Dorian shakes his head and sits down on a pillow on the floor. Step by step, he's turned the tiny storage room almost cozy. One day, he brought the pillows for them to sit on, the next he brought more blankets to shield them from the cold. Every day he brings plenty of food and today is no exception. 

“Dorian?” 

“What is it?” 

“Never mind. We should begin,” Siorys says quietly. Dorian tilts his head but doesn't say anything. He picks up a book from the basket and opens it on his lap. 

“Let's see if you can extend the barrier over both of us and still hold it,” he says. 

Siorys tries, but it only lasts for a few seconds. “I don't think I can do this,” he says after the fifth try. He can barely extend it at all. 

“You can. It will take practice but we'll get you there. Try to relax, it'll make it easier. Nobody's perfect when they start, you know. And a barrier isn't the most exciting spell but I promised our dear captain that we wouldn't set the ship on fire.”

Siorys nods. It's not that he finds the lesson boring, he's just frustrated and tense. If he can't learn a simple spell in four days, he'll never be able to defend himself. He wants to ask Dorian if he would consider traveling with him but he has no idea how to do it. 

…

The day ends too quickly, and Dorian wishes his research into time magic with Alexius had resulted in more than theories. If only they could have a few more days before the ship reached the shore, maybe it would feel like enough. Dorian knows that when he steps onto solid ground again, reality will punch him in the face. He has liquor to deal with that, but it's only ever enough to dull the pain. It's never completely eradicated. He will have to start over, make a life for himself. It won't be as he imagined it and part of him is excited about it. But mostly, he's scared. 

When the captain arrives to walk Dorian back to his cabin, Lavellan has a decent grasp on the barrier but he doesn't seem pleased with himself. Maybe he's nervous about the future too. Dorian opens his mouth to say goodnight, but Lavellan tugs the sleeve of his robe and drags him back into the room. The captain shakes her head and closes the door. 

“Sorry,” Lavellan says. He stares at the floor for a few seconds and Dorian waits for him to speak. “I wanted to ask you...if...if... you wanted to keep teaching me,” he finally says, stumbling over his words. He hides his face in his hands and turns around before Dorian can answer him. 

His answer is yes. 

Suddenly, reaching the shore does not feel so frightening anymore. Dorian barely sleeps that night, but he has a smile on his face. He won't be alone.

They are the last to leave the ship when morning comes and they dock at Wycome. Dorian reluctantly promises to meet the captain for drinks at least once, and she hugs Lavellan goodbye. “Thank you,” he says and Dorian wants to thank her too. Not many would do what she had done for Lavellan.

“I'm happy to help. Now, I want to see you at the Wyvern's Tail too. Until then, be safe,” she says.  
The docks aren't as impressive as in Minrathous, and Dorian shivers at the cold. _At least we¨re not in Ferelden,_ Dorian thinks. _It can always be worse._

Lavellan is staring at the city in wonder, like it's the most magical place he's ever seen. To him, maybe it is. He's whispering something to himself, but Dorian can't hear what it is. Then he takes a step forward. Dorian follows and waves goodbye to the captain.

When he lowers his hand, Lavellan takes it and together they leave the ship, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the story is over! I'm sorry the last chapter was so late. My life has been very busy the last few months. I've started working on the sequel but it will be a while before I start uploading it.


End file.
